Sunday, December 31, 2017

Spoiled Kids: A Big Fear for Wealthy Families

If there is any doubt regarding the absurdity of the super-rich and a rigged system that caters to their every desire, idiosyncrasy, vanity, corporate interest, political bent, private concern and public persona, here comes Ann Kaplan Mullholland, patron saint of plastic, galloping in on a Globe and Mail advertorial entitled, A big fear of Wealthy Families: Spoiled kids (see here).



The best part of this farce? It was authored by a woman who writes children's books with titles like, Half-Truths and Brazen Lies. What is that? Unintentional irony? Coincidence? Synchronicity? The covert poetics of karmic humor? An ego so self-unaware, so grotesquely bloated from a gluttonous diet of hubris, flattery, dermal fillers and tissue expanders that it unwittingly reveals the ugly truth about itself? 
Forget diamonds, the new marker
of status is the puffy "rich-face".
The marvels of cosmetic surgery. 

An entitled person taking advantage of her privilege to market herself in either a misleadingly positive light or a misleadingly humanizing one, as if she too has struggles that parallel those of the "lowly" commoner living in a rented shack, forced to wear holey socks or snagged nylons, and the same genetically determined lips, cheeks, nose and breasts with which she was born?

Or more likely, another example of the over-Botoxed sticking it to the rest of us, rubbing our faces in it, in the same condescending vein as Louise Linton, laughing behind our backs while to our faces pretending to relate. As everyone else struggles with financial woes, job uncertainties, housing worries, predatory lenders, and trying to raise children in a time of tremendous cultural upheaval and (for better or worse) social change, the rich flaunt their wealth (HERE), feigning worry over spoiling their spoiled children AS they are in the midst of spoiling them.
Plastically-preserved Louise Linton spells it out for us, the common folk: See here.
The surgical face of a Joker.
In any event, whatever you call it, this is an article so contradictory, so ironic, so drippingly Norman Rockwell, that one has to seriously wonder if it was actually a parody piece meant for The Beaverton that somehow got lost in the cyber shuffle and ended up in a poorly managed Globe and Mail inbox. An inbox already inundated with the regressive tripe of Margaret Wente, the pedophilia advocacy of Dr. James Cantor, or stern alerts to not print ANYTHING even remotely negative about their meddling, weird ass, shifty owners, specifically David Thomson, another of Mammon's birthed oddities. Extremes of wealth tend to create strange, unpleasant entities, a phenomenon both thin-lipped Thomson and lip-injected Kaplan perfectly illustrate. 


Dr. Pipsqueak with his star creation.
It is difficult to fathom that this clown of a woman and the little pipsqueak lipo-suctioning sidekick she married are ever taken seriously in professional circles. But, hey, that's the combined power of blind ambition, avarice, silicone and duck lip selfies for ya. Besides, idiocy has never been an impediment to extraordinary riches, just look at candy corn head, Donald Trump, with his self-glorifying confabulations, or bleached-raisin head, Richard Branson, with his unsettling habit of pulling down his own pants in public.

Modern cosmetic surgeons have a direct financial interest in a social role for women that requires them to feel ugly. They do not simply advertise for a share of a market that already exists: Their advertisements create new markets. It is a boom industry because it is influentially placed to create its own demand through the pairing of text with ads in women's magazines. 
The industry takes out ads and gets coverage; women get cut open. They pay their money and they takes their chances. As surgeons grow richer, they are able to command larger and brighter ad spaces. 
― Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

The Cosmetics Industry is REALLY missing out on an untapped market (see HERE): Scrotal-faced billionaires.
Someone invite this man to a Botox party! Holy Wrinkles! Look at that face! He's a plastic surgeon's GOLD MINE of opportunity!
In addition to blind ambition and goofy personas, if you're chummy with a Thomson, Shaw, Irving, or any other wealth hoarder with multiple, long-reaching media tentacles, the ability to gobble up all the little fish, nest on their skeletons, and eject reputation-smearing ink as well as other forms of intimidation at those who pen unflattering criticism, that helps too.


The weasely wisdom of a glib pipsqueak made disgustingly rich by the inferior status of women - women whose main worth, he understands and freely concedes, lies strictly in what they look like: “In the truly advanced civilization, we would all go boldly forward as we are, saying love me for who I have become,” says Dr. Stephen Mulholland. “Thank God I don’t live in that world. I would be unemployed.” (Source). Not everyone is as sociopathic or unadvancing as Mulholland, however.  A few are waking up to the damage his kind of exploitative objectification is having on the collective conscience:  The Stunning Rise in Plastic Surgery Shows a Psychological Crisis.

As for the hatched spawn of the rich, if spoiled children is your biggest "fear" in life then you have too much money and your soul is in danger of eternal damnation. The solution? Give everything to the poor, take a vow of service and save yourself. Ridiculous? No more ridiculous than the entire tone of A Big Fear for Wealthy Families: Spoiled kids. You would almost think it was written by a children's author. Oh, right, sorry, I forgot, it was.



"While having money doesn’t necessarily make anybody anything, the rich are way more likely to prioritise their own self-interests above the interests of other people. They are more likely to exhibit characteristics we would stereotypically associate with, say, assholes" ~ Paul Piff (link).

The opening line of this ruse "subtly" establishes the intent, immediately mentioning that Kaplan is the CEO of iFinance and the mother of eight hatchlings. This is her super woman shtick, her "brand": Through sheer grit, determination, struggle and sacrifice, this briefly single mother created a multi-million dollar predatory lending business targeted primarily at the culturally manufactured insecurities of women convinced they need pricey cosmetic attention with its concomitant health risks in order to be acceptable to society, particularly to men.


Source: The Big Business behind Cosmetic Surgery Loans

We are encouraged to believe Kaplan managed to craft this indispensable service to humanity single-handedly, above board with nothing but integrity and hard-work, all while getting an education, digging for penis and gold, raising children, giving birth and wearing these snagged nylons she's constantly referencing. (Kaplan might smugly think she's being original with her snagged nylon bit, but being stingy is a common pet narrative among the greedy-rich because in addition to money hoarding and showing off (like HERE), nickel and diming people to death is a badge of honour for them).

Even more impressive, goes the legend, Kaplan achieved her incredible worldly success while still maintaining her looks and, unlike Martha Stewart or Joan Crawford, the loyalty of her children. There is little mention of any supportive family of means, live-in nanny, the millionaire starter husband who sired the first two of her brood, or the possibility of libidinous heterosexual male investors who may have been open to trading "flirty" encounters for business connections and investment capital. 

That she employed her feminine wiles to attract opportunity isn't so far-fetched in the context of her cartoonishly augmented appearance, that she refers to herself as a "couture hooker", and that she openly advises one of the keys to success is marrying and divorcing well. How inspiring. What is the takeaway here? The trophy woman who has herself surgically molded according to the dictates of beauty dogma, the male gaze, unfettered capitalism and the commodification of the female form gets the trophy? 


But there you go. In an oppressive world, a woman has to do what a woman has to do. In other words, I'm not necessarily knocking the use of feminine wiles to get ahead, just that this GLARING aspect of Kaplan's success is so stupidly downplayed you'd think her accomplishments were all done whilst confined to a nunnery where men aren't allowed, her true aged-face hidden behind a screen with a pseudonym, the rest of her covered in a burlap sack, all while marketing her high interest loans to a female population that isn't already primed to believe that in order to be considered a worthy human being, a woman MUST be sexually enticing, youthful and male-pandering. It's just too bad, isn't it, for any woman who isn't deemed "fuckable" enough or who is simply unwilling to submit to such a slanted, degrading system. No trophies for you! 




Let us however get back to the ostensible point of this whole thing. Spoiled kids. That a Thomson controlled news reporting site publishes a piece meant to mislead people regarding the motives of a one percenter, with the Waldorf Astoria as the backdrop of this, The Great Unspoiling of Spoiled Molly, is too much of a karmic cipher to resist.


The Waldorf Astoria, after all, is the same location where in 1961 JFK gave his famous speech, "The President and the Press", with gems like: 


"The very word 'secrecy' is repugnant in a free and open society". 

"There should be no fear of public scrutiny. For from that scrutiny comes understanding; and from that understanding comes support or opposition. And both are necessary".

"Without debate, without criticism, no administration and no country can succeed. That is why our press was protected by the First Amendment not primarily to amuse and entertain, not to emphasize the trivial and the sentimental, not to simply give the public what it wants, but to inform, to arouse, to reflect, to state our dangers and our opportunities, to indicate our crises and our choices, to lead, mold, educate and sometimes even anger public opinion".

"Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed".



Over half a century later and here we are emphasizing the trivial fear of a sentimental concern. Worried her young daughter, Molly, is becoming too accustomed to the comforts of their affluence and is in danger of becoming permanently spoiled, Kaplan's solution is to take the child on a weekend extravaganza to the Waldorf Astoria. It is a weekend replete with horse drawn carriages from which her royal highness "disembarks", "colossal shopping bags" and a trip to spend some "serious cash at the American Girl Store  a nine-year-old girl's mecca". 

What was the key to Kaplan's success, again? Her intellectual depth? Her values? Her sense of shared humanity and respect for others, regardless of who they are or what they look like? Her problem solving abilities, superior reasoning skills and nuanced understanding of human relations? Oh, right, it was cosmetic surgery. Maybe it is true that too much exposure to plastics has a toxic effect on intelligence?

But that aside, does Kaplan think her kid is an idiot who cannot put two and two together?  Will Molly not notice the opulence and indulgences that overwhelm her upbringing just because she had to do a few chores at a rate of pay that rivals an obscenely overcompensated executive making 500x more than the average employee? 

Besides, we all know Molly threatened one of those five nannies to do the chores for her. A smart princess knows how to delegate, and being raised the way this kid is being raised tends to foster meanness as well as contempt for those considered "beneath" them more than anything else: (Age of Entitlement: How Wealth Breeds Narcissism, the Asshole Effect (link).



What lesson is Kaplan really teaching her daughter then? How to deny 99% of reality and live in self-congratulatory ignorance with one dissatisfied eye on the next shiny object, the other on the help, oblivious to the fact most girls will never be in a position to make that trek to "mecca" no matter how many floors they mop or leaves they rake? 

In truth, indulging the whims and ego of a 9-year-old isn't how a parent prevents a child from being spoiled. Neither is enforcing token chores and then praising said child that her "hard work" makes her extra special and entitles her to a level of remuneration that few other human beings, irrespective of how hard they work or how deserving they are, will ever hope to attain. Kaplan herself would never pay anyone she employs a penny more than what is legally required or competitively necessary. Even then, if she plays her cards unscrupulously enough, a monopoly will take care of the competition.

In all probability, though, the only thing Kaplan's extravagant lifestyle and approach to parenting is really likely to instill in Marvelous Molly is a bad case of affluenza. Perhaps if Kaplan didn't equate motherhood with coming in at the eleventh hour after five nannies have done all the heavy lifting, throwing a quarter on the bed, checking her surgically mutilated reflection in some garishly ornate mirror and then twirling out the door in one of her bizarre gowns, straight to a private runway and far away from the messiness of parenthood, she'd understand the psychology of her own children a little better.


Gotta love the raw honesty of a disgruntled ex-employee. SEE HERE.

But who are we kidding here? Kaplan is no more worried about how she's spoiling her multitude of children than she is of widening economic inequality, the crushing debt load of average Canadians, female objectification, the environmental damage associated with conspicuous consumption or how her business model looks an awful lot like loan sharking (makes one wonder what kind of kickbacks those vets, docs and dentists are possibly getting). 


Source: The Big Business behind Cosmetic Surgery Loans
The powers that be have been aggressively promoting Ann Kaplan Mulholland (a woman, as you will remember, whose success and self-worth is heavily reliant on cosmetic procedures) and the plastic surgeon she "coincidentally" married ever since her acting debut on The Real Housewives of Toronto (see HERE).


Source: The Big Business behind Cosmetic Surgery Loans
The advertorial in question, or as they put it "special to the Globe and Mail" is nothing but propaganda and subterfuge (look what plastic surgery did to Kaplan's life, maybe it'll do the same for yours) under the guise of parenting concerns, with the intention of getting more already debt-burdened women to apply for iFinance loans so they too can have some silicone stuffed into their breasts or have any sign of human expression erased from their face.  Or, alternatively, it's all one big narcissistic push in an attempt to get enough super-hyped exposure so Kaplan and the small-enough-to-fit-in-her back-pocket plastic surgeon she calls Husband are entertaining enough to snag another season of reality TV and thus even more exposure, fame and riches.


Forget the politicians.  The politicians are put there to give you the idea you have freedom of choice. You don't. You have no choice. You have owners. They own you. They own everything. They own all the important land. They own and control the corporations and they own all the big media companies so they control just about all of the news and the information you get to hear. They spend billions of dollars every year lobbying to get what they want. Well, we know what they want. They want more for themselves and less for everybody else. But I'll tell you what they don't want. They don't want a population of citizens capable of critical thinking. They don't want well informed, well educated people capable of critical thinking. They're not interested in that. That doesn't help them 
~ George Carlin ~

On a final note, if there's still doubt that the system is rigged by corporate controlled media and well-connected advertisers such as Ann Kaplan, who squash dissident opinions and manipulate public perception in order to enhance their "brand" (despite JFK's warning that deception in an open and free society is repugnant and that without critical debate there can be no progress), here's further indication: All the nearly 100 comments, many of which were brilliant, hilarious take-downs of spoiled rich kids in general and Kaplan's motives in particular, have recently been completely removed from A big fear of wealthy families: Spoiled kids. 

Granted, the Globe and Mail provides an explanation for "temporarily" not allowing comments, but it's still pretty fucking convenient for the image-conscious, wrinkle-fearing Kaplan and that plastic surgeon she keeps in her purse, now ISN'T IT? (If it's not her purse or back pocket, sometimes she keeps him in the ruffles of her gown: HERE).

Always take screen shots.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also, always read the comments.

The following, for example, are a selection of comments from RateMDs (link) that made me laugh out loud. (Comments kept in their original form). Whoever wrote these has comedic talent:

RATINGS FOR DR. STEPHEN MULHOLLAND

1.  "I had my eyes done. They are now small slits. He won't rectify".
~ Submitted December 17, 2015 ("small slits" HAHA!).

2.  "This man destroyed my face in 10 minutes flat. I was once a very attractive woman. I spend hundreds of dollars monthly in therapy to try and reverse the psychological damage caused by this man. He does not think, he acts on impulse and will disfigure your face. He feels he can get away with this as he has in the past".
~ Submitted November 1, 2015 ("I was once a very attractive woman" HAHA!).

3.  "How the F do you correct fat atrophy and sunken eyes from an overly aggressive IPL procedure? Please explain how one can unsink someone's eyes? I mean, is he a magician? If I didn't have a family I would blow my head off in front of his locked off "spa" for everyone to see. Maybe then I might be treated like someone that used to be human".
~ Submitted November 1, 2015 ("is he a magician" HAHA!).

4.  "He seems to be very busy and rushed through my laser procedure. I will leave it at that as the specifics of what has and is happening to my once attractive face are horrific. He will not help you after the fact and will deny the damages. You only have ONE face and my life has not been the same since".
~ Submitted October 23, 2015 ("my life has not been the same since" HAHA!).

5.  "It's been some years now after a facelift from Dr. Mulholland and I am still unhappy with how I look. He was very tired the day of the surgery. One of his ladies doing a follow-up treatment mentioned to me that he has ADHD and travels extensively. He is veeeery busy. Also, have the initial consult with him, he is doing the surgery not his assistant. She is not a doctor. Unfortunately, my initial consult was with her and she recommended I do all kinds of things to my face which I afterwards thought I needed. Trust me less is more when it comes to your face. The sides of my mouth were pulled, now I have lines from my mouth especially when I smile. My ears stuck out after with so much skin and scar tissue behind them. After having him pin them back, they are long and misshapen. Too much skin was taken off my eyes and they do not close properly. I go to get botox treatment regularly to straighten my mouth out. It was so lopsided after the surgery. I thought it would all get better after...it's been over 5 years. Again make sure he is not tired. If he looks like it, even if you are prepped and on the table, cancel it...you only have one face".
~ Submitted May 15, 2015 (Everything about this comment is HILARIOUS! The, "he has ADHD" was what put me on the floor though. LOL!)

6.  "I received eyelid sugery years ago from Dr. Stephen Mulholland and it was terrible,he made things much worse and Dr. Mulholland was even told by a Eye Specialist Surgeon not to perform the sugery. Ignored the Specialist. Even with my concerns and compalints he eventually ignored My concerns and asked me not to contact him anymore".
~ Submitted May 15, 2013 ("...asked me not to contact him anymore". HAHA!).

7.  "Biggest problem is that the hair grafts were pulled out from the donor area but only a small percentage planted in the desired area, meaning that I have a highly reduced donor area left.To make things even worse, the new grafts that were planted never took hold and have all fallen off. Please... DO NOT CONSIDER Mulholland for a hair transplant and having being wronged by him so badly, I would strongly question any other services he provides".
~ Submitted January 2, 2016 ("..having been wronged by him so badly". HAHA!).

8.  "dr,mulholand,destroyed my face made me a face lift microfat,to facial areas,composite deep plane jowl and neck lift,in 2016 i spend 13,000 dollars,its a years I did it my face is horrible,he said it lasted 15 years, I have a hole in the left ear and in the right ear I have it open like an elephant my neck is the same as before the operation,my mouth i have fallen and the wrinkle that I injected fat from my leg did not work anywhere in my face because it made a hole for me and the wrinkles on my face look more pronounced,when the consultation fills my face with botox and filler that I do not last anything,Im wrong about dr,mulhollan it s not a dr,well now my self esteem is on the floor because when I pick up my hair I feel that people look at me and laugh at me its horrible ,and stressful,I do not want to be drunk again,mulholland in my life ,I hate it as dr,I hope this is from I see some person who does not believe,until he does not go through a similar experience,thanks".
~ Submitted March 13, 2017

LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

The Reputation Game

The latest sneering member of the man clan to garner my curiosity is one Matt Earle.  This cocky shithead thought he'd take some time out of his busy day to waste his efforts threatening an obscure blogger, as if my tongue-in-cheek musings would have any impact whatsoever on his sister’s nascent brand "Luxurious Roxy".

Real Housewives of Toronto and the Slut Shame: (This HERE is the ironically written blog that triggered Matt Earle's ire because he's an idiot: "The literal mind is baffled by the ironic one, demanding explanations that only intensify the joke." C.H.). You're right, Matt Earle, Life IS too short: (HERE).
I've been living in the trenches long enough to recognize a veiled threat when I see one: "enjoy your limited time on earth"? What exactly is Matt Earle planning that he can make such a bold, prophetic statement? I was trying to let this go, as any sane person would. However, months later and it's still nagging at me. I need to purge. I need catharsis. Besides, insanity runs in my family.


I suppose Matt Earle thought with self-satisfaction that he was putting a female voice in her "rightful" place, getting under her skin, intimidating her, tempting her with a small clue to puzzle over, something with which to occupy her restless mind. As you can see, it worked. 

Congratulations, Matthew. You have my attention.



So what do we have here? I don't have a lot to work with, mostly just some google scraps. But no worries, I'm a scavenger, always on the lookout for a bone, always chasing my own tail when there's no other tail to chase. Besides, it's more fun to piece together a profile with fragments of information as opposed to having free access to the full cache of a man's dark secrets.

I like games.

Matt Earle must also like games. He's already played his two moves before I even knew we were playing! Sly dog. Or would we call that cheating? 

It's fine. 

I'll let a little cheating slide (unless I'm married to you. If I'm married to you, it won't slide, I won't forgive, I won't forget. Expect me, asshole – okay, okay, clearly I have been watching way too many cheesy anonymous videos. Expose yourself to a philosophy long enough, it starts to seep into your worldview before you even realize it's happening. Next thing you know, you're thinking the thoughts of that philosophy, speaking its language, becoming an accidental adherent, or a closet fan. That's why, Matthew, you should be careful of the company you keep, the hate-inspired rhetoric you spout and the extreme ideologies you immerse yourself in. If you aren't careful, next thing you know, you'll be a douchebag and not even realize it! Stay alert!).

I digress.

Where were we? Oh yes.

Games.

My turn.

Let's see, now. What does Sherlock Holmes advise? He says details, details. The little things are infinitely the most important. His method is founded upon the observation of trifles. Concentrate yourself upon the details, he says. There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. What type of man am I dealing with here, then?

First off, he is a man with a vested interest in Roxy Earle's reputation – Roxy Earle, a well-nourished, phony reality TV actress desperately trying to create a personal brand for herself, a "Roxy Empire", a legacy of vanity and waste (see here). A shamelessly pampered woman married to a much older man, a man with coin and a murky past, who I can only assume has ulterior motives. She is also a woman I happen to amuse myself ridiculing and who happens to be Matt Earle's sister.



What else? He's the CEO (just "love" me a slimy CEO) of an Orwellian "reputation management" company. There's some language manipulation for ya! Somewhere in the great beyond George must be feeling smug right about now, turning to the other literary saints with a knowing smile, "I told you so". Huxley, not to be outdone, pipes up, "Hey! I called Trump! A little respect!" (source).




As for our boy, Matt Earle, and his foray into the potentially lucrative business of "thought policing", it seems he's trying for the big leagues. He plans to do this by cleaning up the sloppy online trails of debauchery, corruption and revealing commentary that invariably follow filthy rich men wherever they defecate go. (Rich men like, oh I don't know, Roxy's husband, Raghu Kilambi, perhaps? Here's his resume if any sugar babies out there are interested in sizing him up for a side gig: Raghu Kilambi's resume).




Back to Matt Earle, there might be a slight hitch in his master plan to get in on the early stages of the cyber police state. His expertise in "reputation management" is going to be a hard sell when he cannot even keep his OWN online reputation squeaky clean. As much as I detest filthy rich assholes, you can't really call them stupid, not in business, anyway. They will do their due diligence, Matthew. They will find out that you suck at this.




What else can be said about Matt Earle? There isn't a whole lot to skewer, but he's left enough debris scattered about the web that at minimum, we can determine he's a weak, undisciplined sniveler of generous proportions who is overly concerned with "enjoying" himself, keeping himself doughy. A soft, flaccid man with poor impulse control who doesn't practice delayed gratification and denies himself nothing? His wife must be so disappointed. Poor thing, a woman, dare I say, to "pity"?

Let's see, what else.

Matt Earle, a rape apologist who defends Jian Ghomeshi and openly maligns the "feminist worldview" (I would love to know what he thinks the "feminist worldview" is other than the "radical" notion that women are people entitled to the same human rights and dignity as all people).

Matt Earle, an ineffectual businessman who attempted to help his disgraced client, Jian Ghomeshi, regroup, rebrand and relaunch – Jian Ghomeshi, a sadistic narcissist of ill repute with a confessed predilection toward sexual assault who, with the encouragement of Matt Earle, thought he could re-emerge like a prodigal son with a new venture called The Ideation Project to a forgiving, welcoming audience.  I don't think it worked (source). Oh, Matt Earle, you're just so bad at this.



Matt Earle, an insecure galoot who has trouble articulating himself in interviews or comfortably looking another in the eye. A Trump fanboy, a lesser specimen, not an alpha – a spineless, simpering monkey who frantically latches onto bigger, meaner, smarter monkeys for protection, and for the false sense of superiority associating with a more impressively vicious beast gives him. A buffoon unoriginal in thought who mouths the words and mimics the actions of nastier, shrewder, more overtly misogynistic, aggressive men, such as Ezra Levant and his Rebel army of trolls (source). Matt Earle, a man, dare I say, to "pity"?

Matt Earle, a man who overcompensates for his insecurities by leaning heavily, not on his wits, but on the upper hand he came prepackaged with the day he was born with a penis. With the pseudo bravado male privilege affords him, he has no hesitation hurling lowbrow slurs and harassment at those, such as women and religious minorities, he's confident don't possess the social status that would enable them to retaliate on a level playing field.

Ensconced in this male privilege, apparently with no mirror around to look at his reflection, he had no problem AT ALL openly deriding (see here) the physical attributes of a woman he doesn't know simply because he was upset she had engaged in some harmless ribbing on twitter that involved his sister, a reality TV actress. His sister, Roxy Earle, a living large showoff gunning for fame through the Real Housewives of Toronto (see here). A voluptuous lady with an ugly heart and a healthy appetite, so focused on her own leisure that she has to pay an assistant to make her a smoothie or run her a bubble bath (see here).

You'd think that a man with the balls to demean the appearance of a female stranger who doesn't have the kind of money or desire required to keep a woman looking like a lusty plasticized trophy would be SURROUNDED by great beauties to justify his arrogance. But I looked. And no. There are no great beauties in his family tree. 

Matt Earle also has a daughter – a treasure treated with kid gloves and referred to as "princess". Society can thus look forward to yet another spoiled, jealous, materialistic, entitled, cruel person being unleashed on the rest of us in the future. Hopefully I'm wrong, but as we all know, the apple doesn't normally fall far from the tree. 

The fact that Matt Earle has a daughter makes his misogyny all the more disgusting. I know some people do not like when this point is made, that men with daughters should be any more outraged or empathetic to the plight of women than anyone else; however, a basic feature of human psychology is that the closer you are to an issue, the more emotionally invested and moved you will be by that issue. It's why trauma survivors become activists and make the best advocates. It is also a useful persuasive tactic in advertising or wherever persuasion is used: Make things personal and people are more likely to engage

With the above in mind, that misogynists, such as Matt Earle, have daughters (in addition to the concerning popularity of incest and child porn), and that having daughters does not change their feelings or alter their perspective, speaks volumes about how men are still, despite all the progress made, socialized from birth onward to view the female as inferior, as chattel, as "creations" made or evolved exclusively for male desires and needs. So don't tell ME the world isn't a fucked up patriarchy when not even little girls can trust their own fathers, men who supposedly are there to love, protect and guide, not to be pigs.





As for Matt Earle, in addition to his behaviour unbecoming of a father, his online body shaming antics are a tad foolish, don't you think, when he's trying so hard to promote his sister's BODY POSITIVE brand?? Dumb, dumb, dumb. Matthew, you need to reevaluate your career choice.

THIS is hilarious in that Matt Earle HIMSELF, by his own actions, indicates it's UNTRUE: "CEO.ca considers Matt one of the sharpest, most effective operators in Canadian business. He’s been in the online reputation management game for more than ten years, he’s an expert in SEO, and he’s helped hundreds of people and businesses deal with these kinds of problems" (Source).

Men who attack the way a woman looks rather than debate the merits or lack thereof of her opinions have to be the most pathetic of the whole fucking troop. Where does he get off? Has HE seen a picture of HIMSELF?


Matt Earle's identical twin brother. Uncanny.
Matthew? Are we done here? If so, go play nice with someone else.

Oh, never mind. Since originally writing this blog, it's come to my attention that Matt Earle (or those he represents) is distraught that I have responded to the communication HE initiated. Just when I thought he couldn't be any more pathetic, too. Imagine, a grown ass man all hysterical over a few teeny weeny little words all written in fun. So weak, Matt Earle.  Or as his "pussy" idol would say, "sad".


I don't hold grudges. I remember facts that piss me off, just so you know Matt Earle.
Are these people, people of privilege who have every advantage in the world, seriously THIS worked up over a nobody playing around with a few letters of the alphabet to the point that they would exert the effort required to "bury" an inconsequential blog even further? Children! Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you. Come on



They have everything else, do they really need all the words, too? Greed this extreme is nothing but a curse that erodes the soul and rots the mind. These people condemn themselves with their own deeds and thoughts, thereby rendering incantations unnecessary, which is a relief. You should always do your best to avoid directly interfering with the work of karma, lest karma turns her penetrating eye back on you.


See? The Alphabet?. They are just words. They can't hurt you.

What did Matt Earle hope to accomplish by signaling an insomniac with a curious mind and unresolved issues looking for an outlet, anyway? I didn't snipe anything disrespectful or threatening at him. I merely acknowledged that I was aware of his interest. Then this? Bad sportsmanship, Matthew. I had thought we were done.

Apparently I thought wrong...as tends to happen.

Matt Earle, if you, your friends and clients are going to be so bold as to openly act like alt right trolls online, then you should have the courage of your "convictions" and stand by your words, you pitiful piece of shriveled foreskin. 

These are definitely NOT "noble" enemies. More than enough is never enough for them.

They all scream free speech! Free speech! But they only want that free speech if it is for themselves because the moment I or anyone like me expresses an opinion they don't like, or satirize their clear-cut folly, we have sinister fucking people skulking around in the cyber shadows. But fine. If that's the way you want to conduct yourself, good luck with that. Now, ROT IN HELL!!!!! (kidding).


“Never annoy a blogger or you will become the poison in her font and the villain in everything she writes.” 
― S.L.A. 



Thursday, September 21, 2017

When the World is your Oyster: Life of Privilege

One thing a cynic like me cannot get enough of is a hideously wealthy socialite bemoaning the ills of the world, ills for which she and her lifestyle are complicit. A woman who calls herself a humanitarian because her privilege enables her to be a Barbie Doll Savior, as well as write useless, tone-deaf pieces about starving children forced into slave labour. Fluff pieces with titles like: Canadian Consumers Shouldn’t Accept Child Labour In Their Products (source).

When your name is Joan and you're married to a CEO as well-connected and compensated for as Don Walker, you can be, do and say whatever you want regardless of talent, merit, a solid understanding of the subject matter, or even decency. You can be a model, fashionista, writer, ambassador, an activist whose primary activity is preening behind a podium, reality TV actress (here), proselytizer for an evangelical organization, or have your body cosmetically mutilated so everyone can constantly prattle on about what a goddess you are. Whatever you desire, it's yours.

The world is your oyster. And when you're done noisily slurping that down until well and satiated, likely before a desperate crowd of emaciated youngsters with outstretched hands, you can be entertained by those same youngsters as they literally sing for their scraps. Nothing like making a disadvantaged child "perform" so you look good and can feed your narcissistic impulses. You can then peer over the bowed heads of those same youngsters, dismiss their hunger pangs as the price of business, and admonish the rest of us for not doing enough.

After that, satisfied that you've fulfilled your self-appointed messianic duty without breaking a nail, you can leave the filthy urchins in their parched hell, and happily return to your paradise, a summer "cottage" in Muskoka.  



From there, amidst pleasing breezes and leisurely sunny days, you can lament how difficult it is for the "help" to find cheap luxury goods that still allow YOU the selfie-freedom to look at your own reflection without needing the false reassurance of a Magic Mirror. You and your deluded conscience can then sleep soundly at night without fear of being ambushed, unlike those for whom you claim to advocate.




Joan Kelley-Walker, who according to an interview with ET Canada "went from humble beginnings to a life of luxury when she married multi-millionaire, Don Walker, the CEO of Magna", seems to have come to the conclusion that because she's been prenup'ed into the "rich man clan", her superficial ideas are something we all need to hear. 

It's as bad as Pamela Anderson's disingenuous road to Damascus moment.  After achieving fame and fortune from what basically amounts to a pornographic career, Anderson suddenly comes out at the age of nearly 50, with creepy Rabbi Shmuley of all men, to denounce the industry that secured her a name?  Decades later, well past her "best before date" and safely protected in a fortress of wealth and acclaim, she has the audacity to shame those who now have an unhealthy addiction to pornography in part because of people just like her?

Kiss of Judas (SOURCE)
I don't know about anyone else, but I've heard about enough hypocrisy from the cartoonishly augmented Pamelas and Joans of the world and their smarmy male "investors" jerking off in the shadows. Just because pustulating masses of oozing men wanted to fuck you when you were young and pliable, now in your comfortably delusional aging years you think we all need to sit down and hear your words? 

Even worse? People DO sit down and mindlessly stare at the Pamelas and Joans of the world, pretending to listen! 

No one has ANY IDEA what torture it is for me to exist on this intolerable planet.

An audience will stop and give attention to women who have made careers and marriages out of sexual objectification, not because of what these women say, but because of who they are and what they look like. 

They take advantage of a populace that is already conditioned to notice when those with celebrity or social status are in a room and have a mic.  The idea that their words inspire action beyond seeking out a plastic surgeon, going into debt, acquiring a sexually transmitted disease, or finding out that nothing can make you happy anyway is dubious at best.

That this type of "runway model" pseudo-activism effects any real long-term, structural change in the causes that sexbot types lend their names to is as probable as Kim Kardashian deflating her implants, shedding her fur, closing her Instagram account, surrendering her iPhone to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, and donating everything she has to the Invisible Girl Project. In other words, I call bullshit.



Joan Walker can blather on all she wants about how "heartbreaking" it is for five year olds to be forced to work in dangerous jobs, or how they should be in school, but when one contemplates where HER wealth and privilege comes from, her chiding "humanitarianism" rings a smidge hollow. 

She writes that she has "little or no idea about the manufacturing chain a product passes through". Oh really? She must have some idea, or are trophy wives not allowed to talk to their husbands?  She is, after all, married to the CEO of an automotive multinational that takes advantage of the SAME dismal working conditions, slave wages, unregulated trade borders and injustice that, as she references, pushes "168 million children" into forced labour worldwide.  
Anti-human rights activist Don Walker is opposed to raising the minimum wage  ANYWHERE on the planet because he worries that if  too many people are able to feed themselves and improve their quality of life, there will not be enough left over to appease the financial appetites of a gluttonous few. Greed feeds off the suffering and desperation of the poor. They don't need your pity, Joan, they need people like you and your "friends" (HERE) and the rich men you all marry to stop sucking the rest of humanity dry of bone, blood, hope and life.
When Magna moves its operations to countries like China, India and Mexico because labour and production costs are so cheap that workers cannot even live on the pittance they are paid, someone has to pick up the slack in the name of survival.  Guess who that someone is? It isn't glib businessmen like Don Walker who are made rich beyond reason by the unethical practices of unfettered capitalism and a notorious lack of regard for basic human dignity and principles of fairness.  And it isn't "fainting fashionistas" who feign delicate sensibilities like second wife, Joan Walker. Oftentimes, it's, you guessed it, CHILDREN who have to pick up the slack. 

Advising people to malign and boycott products possibly made by those in survival mode is akin to handing a child a death sentence. If Joan Walker is serious about "making the world a better place", she might consider that charity, like peace, begins at home. You know, her HOME in TORONTO where there are freezing human beings sleeping in the streets like feral animals because wealth and power says "there's no room in the inn"? (SEE HERE). You know, her gargantuan HOMES, the ones bought with funds associated with the very globalization, offshoring, repression of workers' rights and below subsistence level wages that fuel economic inequality and push demand for the same child labour Joan fakes such concern about? 

THEN, incredibly, Walker informs us, with the kind of ignorant pomposity only those with privilege possess, that she is "certain" she "speaks for all Canadians"? Well, I'm Canadian and she definitely DOES NOT speak for me. How dare she make that presumption.

Friday, September 15, 2017

Feral Cats and Dark Entities

I come home tonight and it’s like I’ve walked into the pages of a Stephen King novel. When I get out of my car, it is to the deafening sound of meowing, screeching cats on the ground and squawking crows in the air.



The scavenger crows harass the feral cats, or at least that’s how it appears, but the cats don’t care. They (the cats) are everywhere and are of various sizes, casually loitering about, hanging out with their friends, forming alliances and rivalries; a couple of them erupt into a cat fight while another pair starts copulating right then and there in the open. Disgusting. I hate cats.

“Get a room!”  I shrill as I trudge past them and across the street towards the 300-stair climb to my brother’s Psycho House on the mount where I've been staying, freaking myself out, as a "favor" to him while he's away.  Never trust emotionally incontinent people who ask you for favors.  It's a trap.

I always find myself in traps from which I must break free, live or die style. It's not easy. I have many scars.

But "goodie" for me, while I might be maimed, I'm still here.  The universe can continue amusing itself at my expense.

And that is exactly what happens next when a scraggly looking man, who evidently heard me yell at the cats, lops by carrying an unopened case of Lucky beer. He's wearing shorts that show off his prosthetic leg and when he sees me looking, screams, “YOU get a room!!”

It makes no sense for him to say that I should get room, so I holler back, “Really?”

I am a wizard of witty replies.

“You want a piece of me?!!” he immediately spits back even though it’s a ridiculous thing to say, especially given the present context. Is he kidding? No he is not.  Is he drunk? Probably. Surely, though, he's not going to continue this, I think. He must want to get to where he's going and crack open that case of beer, as if he needs any more.  But no. Lucky-beer-guy-with-the-missing-leg wants to persist with this altercation I’ve inadvertently started. Why are people so confrontational everywhere I go? I hate cats. I hate drunks. I hate confrontation. It's everywhere. And people wonder why I avoid them.

Only a few meters separate us by this point, but although he does slow his pace and keeps turning back to glare at me, he doesn't actually stop, which I take as a good sign.  I pick up my own pace and continue to cross the street. It’s absurd he's decided I've told him to get a room for no apparent reason! I don’t want him going around with such an absurdity in his head, so I call out, “Take it easy! I wasn’t talking to you – I was talking to the CATS!”

I can’t quite make out his reply, but I suspect he calls me a “crazy bitch cat woman” or some variation of same.

Oh my god.

I DO NOT want to be thought of as a crazy cat lady. I don’t even like cats.  As I've said, I hate them.

“They’re not my cats!!” I yell a little too desperately.

But it’s futile. He’s lost interest and keeps going, disappearing into the bowels of the darkening street with the erroneous notion now embedded in his worldview that I’m some crazy cat lady who inexplicitly thought he should get a room.  I do not like this turn of events at all. Not at all. I feel unsettled now and fight the urge to run after him in an attempt to clear up this horrible misunderstanding.

As for the cats, they are oblivious to all this unfortunate human drama their existence has caused. They wander aimlessly in the middle of the road; some block the sidewalk and others trespass on people's lawns. They do and go where ever the hell they please. There are so many of these cats - some of them alarmingly huge tomcats - that I feel like I'm in danger of being jumped by a gang of them.  I tell them to "shoo! shoo!" but they ignore me. They're not afraid of me. They are afraid of NO ONE.



I however have spent enough time thinking about these cats and it’s gotten dark.  I just want to end this day. So I race up the stairs and when I finally reach the front door I have to stop to catch my breath. As I do, the door creaks open, as if someone has pulled it open, but no one is there. It gives me an eerie feeling made all the more eerie when I walk into the dimly lit, quiet house, save for a ticking clock and running toilet.

I turn on the light only to discover, much to my surprise, that my children, the dog and my husband, all of whom should be here, have probably been abducted by aliens.

As for the suspected alien abduction, the evidence is everywhere.

You’d have to be a FOOL not to suspect alien abduction here.  It looks as though everyone has vanished into thin air amidst doing normal evening activities. They were taken in mid-sentence, mid-feeding-the-dog, mid-eating-supper, mid-brush, and in mid-picking-up-the-wet-bath-towel-you-dropped-on-the-kitchen-floor-because-who-DOESN'T-get-ready-for-bed-in-the-kitchen?

There are discarded, unattended, undone, unwashed, untidy items all over the place; nothing is where it should be and the lack of human sounds is making me think my thoughts of possible alien abduction might not be so far-fetched after all.

Then I hear a noise, a kind of rustling behind me, and as I turn to look, I’m startled by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

I jump and whirl around, fully expecting to see a big-headed alien with huge black sockets for eyeballs staring back at me, peering into my soul.

But it’s not an alien. It’s something much, much worse.

It’s a cat.

It’s one of those frigg’in tomcats from the street, nonchalantly strolling right on into the house as if it owns the joint. I gape at the thing in paralyzed disbelief as if it’s, well, an alien. It meows at me, yawns, sashays about the living room, basically shrugs its shoulders before deciding there is nothing worthwhile here and leaves out the door it came through. The same door that only moments before had been slammed shut. The door is obviously possessed.

What’s next in this creepy place? The crows? The door, the evil door, will let a murder of them swarm in like a colony of minion bats. They'll overtake me completely, whisking me away to the alien ship where I'm sure they are about to probe John because he's just so annoying. We'll make a bargain. The aliens can keep John for their experiments if they release the kids back to me. It turns out the aliens, while disturbing to look at, are reasonable beings, open to negotiation and diplomacy, and are willing to take the deal.

Then Lala lives happily ever after...there's definitively a housekeeper somewhere in this story. A well-paid housekeeper, but a housekeeper nevertheless. There are no drunks. No confrontations. There are no cats. There are no husbands and there are no emotionally incontinent brothers. All the bad fathers have been destroyed and what annoying people do remain suddenly vanish like vapor. Then? Bliss.

The end.